


Petrichor

by ShariDeschain



Series: Batdictionary [11]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Jason is a good brother only a little reluctant, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9860957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShariDeschain/pseuds/ShariDeschain
Summary: Petrichor(n) the smell of earth after rain.Or the one where they can’t take death seriously anymore (even if it still hurts).





	

He gets the call around 4:00 AM in the morning and almost dislocates his shoulder in the attempt to grab the phone on the nightstand without raising his head from the pillow. Once he sees the name on the screen he’s really tempted to just throw the phone away and go back to sleep. He answers it just because of Dick. A lot of his decisions lately are because of Dick. He doesn’t know why or, at least, he’s never in the right mood to get all introspective and actually find out all the reasons for this new misplaced sense of guilt that’s been affecting him since the day of his brother’s funeral. Like with almost every other thing in his life (and in his death) he just goes with it.

“Hey B.”, he forces himself to answer, keeping his voice purposely rough to make sure Bruce understands he’s bothering him without actually telling it to his face. Baby steps, he supposes.

Bruce doesn’t seem to care about his subtleties anyway, because he only grunts into the speaker of his comm.

“Damian’s missing”, he says, getting straight to the point. He doesn’t add anything, doesn’t even pretend to ask for his help, he just expects it right away.

And a month ago, hell, even a week ago, Jason would’ve answered with something along the line of “and why should that be my problem?” or even a more straightforward “the fuck I care?” and then hung up on him for good measure, but now those words barely flash through his mind while he gets up from the bed and starts looking for his boots.

“Is that a “someone kidnapped him” missing or a “I yelled at him and he stomped away and when I checked his room he wasn’t there and now I can’t find him” missing?”, he asks, knowing that whatever the answers is he’s going to help anyway. Though the first option sounds honestly better to him, at least there would be someone to punch. But Bruce doesn’t answer him, so.

“Okay, the second one then”, he sighs, not surprised at all. “Did he take his bike or one of the cars? Please tell me he didn’t take the jet because I’m honestly not awake enough to fly around the States looking for your son.”

And again, a month ago, hell, even a week ago, Damian taking off to blow some steam on his own wouldn’t have been such a big problem. Rather the contrary, in fact. Often enough giving Damian some space was the best course of action for keeping the good health of everyone involved. But right now the kid is dealing with both his own resurrection and the death of the person he arguably loved more than everything else in the world, his own parent and maybe even his own pets included. Because the shit in their life works like that. Go big or go home it’s the ongoing motto.

“All the vehicles are accounted for”, Bruce answers. “At least all the ones we are aware of. He could have some of his own stashed away somewhere.”

Considering the kid’s passion for whatever motorized thing he could get his little hands on to make it fly or run twice its normal speed, the idea of him having some sort of secret mechanical workshop hidden in the city is not crazy at all. It wouldn’t be a reassuring thought the most of times, and now less than ever.

“But he took off from home on his feet, right?”, Jason asks anyway, hating the way his voice cracks a little around the word _home_ and hoping Bruce’s too distracted to notice. He blames the lack of sleep for that slip of the tongue. And Dick. Alive or not, Dick’s always the one to blame when it comes to family.

“Yes, I believe so”, Bruce’s voice is tired, but Jason’s doesn’t care all that much about it. Knowing him, he’s brought this over his own head (and over Jason’s head too, apparently, and that earns him even less sympathy from him.)

“Anyone else looking?”, Jason asks again, putting on the first more or less clean shirt he finds on the floor.

“Red Robin and Batgirl are on it.”

Jason whistles, picking up his jacket and the bike’s keys.

“Then you can relax, old man. I mean, if we’re not a match for your ten years old we might as well hung up capes, computers and guns once and for all.”

“Mh”, Bruce answers noncommittally. He sounds suspiciously resigned. Like he’s just waiting for the next blow to catch him off guard.

Jason stops with a hand over the door handle, unsure of what to say next.

“C’mon Bruce, it’s _Damian_ ”, he tries slowly. “He’s going to be okay, you know?”

“He was _Damian_ last time too”, Bruce reminds him sharply. And one could put _Dick_ or even _Jason_ instead of _Damian_ , and the implications wouldn’t change. It irks him right away, and even if he’s actively trying not to be an ass about this whole thing, he doesn’t have a lot of patience for Bruce to start with.

“Okay, okay”, he returns, voice just slightly annoyed. “Don’t get all batshit now, we’ll find the brat. I’ll call you when I have news.”

He hangs up without a goodbye and just stares at the closed door.

He doesn’t have to do this, it’s not his problem. Sure, he cares about the kid - about the entire family, if he’s going to be honest with himself - there’s no use in denying it after he went over himself to help Bruce get Damian back. And he would do it again. There’s no doubting his help in case of emergency, that’s pretty clear to everyone. But this is not an emergency, this is family drama and he doesn’t have to get involved. Mostly because he knows that getting involved one time is going to set a dangerous precedent, and soon enough he may find himself running around Gotham every time Alfred runs out of milk (not that he would deny Alfred anything if he ever asked, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

He jingles the keys in his fingers for a moment, then he sighs.

Damian’s missing and Jason has to care about it. He blames this too on Dick. He’s pretty sure that now he’ll feel obliged to do the brat’s bidding and endure his outbursts just because of Dick. Because he’s not there to do it anymore. Because he would appreciate if Jason stepped up and took his place. Because there is a heartbroken child wandering alone into the night and Batman is after him (because Jason has no doubt Bruce geared up into his costume and all to go after Damian. It mustn’t have even crossed his mind, the idea to do it as himself, as _Bruce Wayne_. To just get into one of his expensive cars and go after his son in his pajama and slippers like any other normal father would. It’s one of those thing Bruce just doesn’t get.) (Although, to be fair, this _is_ Damian, so the possibility of ninjas and weird villains and god knows what other unspecified dangers could be happening anyway, but honestly, that’s not how it feels. This feels like a kid’s temper tantrum, one of those crazy things that happen to normal families too. And no, the irony’s not lost on him.)

Jason grabs his helmet and locks the door, and doesn’t even bother to take his guns with him.

*

He calls Tim before starting the bike, just to have a second opinion.

“He called you too, uh?”, he doesn’t sound surprised. To be fair, there are very few things that can truly surprise Tim anymore.

“Yeah. You know how he is”, Jason answers.

They both know how Bruce is. Bruce is _focused_. Usually on more than just one thing or one person, but lately Damian has understandably stolen all of his attention. Which makes this missing business even more ridiculous, because after all that happened one would expect from Bruce to be a little bit more attentive to Damian’s whereabouts. Like, plant three different tracking devices on him attentive, at least.

Tim sighs in his ear, and he sounds as tired as Jason feels.

“Yeah”, he replies. “Which is why I’d like to find the demon brat as soon as possible and just go back to bed.”

Jason hums in agreement.

“Do you know what they were fighting about?”

Tim hesitates in a way that makes Jason think that yes, he does know, but also that he kind of feels guilty about knowing.

“Timbo?”, he prompts him.

There is another hesitation, longer this time.

“Dick”, Tim finally answers, and the pain is so damn clear in his voice. Damian may have been closer to Dick lately, but Tim had spent half his childhood with him. He was, in a sense, the first real brother Dick ever had, because if he and Dick had to be honest about it, then they’d have to admit that Jason became Dick’s brother in retrospect, when it was too late. Never when he was actually there, because Dick was still young then, and angry. Having been there and done that, Jason doesn’t blame him anymore, but now he wonders if Tim knows it, if he knows how much his presence has reshaped the family dynamic, so that Robin didn’t have to be an only child anymore. Somehow he doubts it.

Jason rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s really happy he was not there to hear the fight between Bruce and Damian. They both could be deadly vicious with their words (other than with their fists and their knives, obviously.)

“Obviously”, he repeats out loud. “Alright, where are you?”

Tim gives him and address and Jason frowns. It’s closer to his territory and that’s not a place where he wants an angry Robin to be wandering around. He hopes Damian’s not anywhere near there, and already regrets leaving his guns behind.

“First one to find him gets to swat him before calling Bruce?”, he dares Tim.

“Nope. If you want to volunteer for being a victim of fratricide that’s your problem”, Tim retorts. “Leave me out of it. I’ve already suffered my fair share.”

“Fine, Red Chicken”, Jason scoffs before hanging up. “You’re no fun at all.”

*

He calls Barbara and Alfred too, just to know which territories have already been covered. He doesn’t bother with Bruce because he’s pretty sure he’s doing a recog of the whole Gotham and trying to talk him out of it would be a waste of time.

In the end Jason happens to know just a little bit more than the rest of them about daddy issues, dead children and dead children coming back to life, and that’s probably why he finds him first. He doesn’t even have to look that hard or drive too far away. Only to the Manor’s and, more specifically, to the Manor’s cemetery.

Damian’s right there, sitting on Dick’s tombstone. He’s wearing his pajamas, mudded bare feet dangling above the ground. If it wasn’t the middle of the night, if this wasn’t a cemetery, and if this wasn’t Damian, it would look like a little kid mindlessly taking a break in the middle of a playground.

Instead there’s a child sitting on his brother’s grave, and around him there are his other brother's, his father’s and even his own empty tombs. Jason has no doubt that if Damian had the power to chose which grave should be empty and which one full, he would be a goner. It’s not a fair thought, but Jason rarely gets fair things, so he’s not ashamed of it too much.

He kills the bike and walks slowly towards the kid. He can’t believe Bruce never thought of checking here. No, he must have looked around, and Damian probably just had kept himself hidden from his father. Not that Jason can blame him for that - and not like Jason didn’t use to do exactly the same thing himself when he was Damian’s age (both with Bruce and his real father).

The cobblestone-covered path crackles under his boots as he walks, wet grass making it slippery and squeaky. Damian’s looking down at his hands and he doesn’t acknowledge Jason when he approaches him, even if there’s no way he didn’t notice him.

Jason, for his part, doesn’t really know what to do now that he has found the brat. He should probably just call Bruce and leave, but that doesn’t feel right. He’s not so eager about picking a fight with the kid either, though, which is where any attempts at conversation is going to land him. But he’s not here to fight. There’s going to be scolding and heartfelt conversations about not leaving home in the middle of the night when everyone’s already so alarmed that they could start fucking ringing or howling like sirens at any little thing, but Jason’s not the one who’s gonna do any of it. And if Bruce’s half as smart as he thinks he is, he’ll not say a word either. Those kind of things are mostly Alfred’s job anyway. Used to be Dick’s too, but eh.

So Jason sits down on Damian’s own grave, his back against the tombstone, so he can still face the kid. He doesn’t say hello, doesn’t even try to attract his attention. Gives him the choice on when, how and on what basis their conversations should start.

The silence between them is heavy, but not uncomfortable. Definitely familiar. Jason remembers a night spent at Dick’s apartment, both of them sitting on Dick’s old couch. He was reading a book, Damian was playing on his phone, Tim and Dick were easily chatting in kitchen. This quiet feels a bit like that, just colder. And wetter. And lonelier.

He feels something crawl on the back of his hand and swats it away without even looking at it. For some reasons this seems to attract Damian’s attention.

“Why did you kill it?”, Damian asks, looking at him for the first time since he arrived. “It was only a firefly.”

And now Jason can see that there is a firefly in Damian’s cupped hands too, or at least that’s what the faint light between his fingers seems to suggest. He straightens his back and meets the kid’s gaze with his own. He thinks about his question for a moment, then just shrugs.

“I don’t care for bugs”, he answers honestly.

Damian tilts his head at him.

“Why?”, he asks again. He looks mildly curious, which is a good thing. Only a little weird.

Jason shrugs again.

“Same reason you don’t care for reptiles, I suppose.”

Damian scrunches up his nose at that.

“Snakes are between the deadliest animals in the world”, he retorts. “Some of them can shoot venom up to six feet with better accuracy than yours, not that it would be difficult to best you on that regard”, a little pause. “Beside, they slither”, he adds with a disgusted grimace.

Jason does his best not to laugh.

“Well, bugs are gross”, he offers in return.

 _And they eat corpses_ , but he’s not gonna say that with Dick six feet under them. Let’s not give the kid new materials for his nightmares.

Damian doesn’t seem to think “gross” an adequate excuse for killing fireflies, but Jason’s not going to push it. They all have their weird little things, and he’d rather not tell Damian horror stories about dead kids crawling out of their graves at night, digging into the mud under the rain and feeling worms and maggots and god knows what else between the fingers. He’s not going to tell him that that night smelled exactly like this one.

“Your dad’s looking for you”, he says instead, because at some point they’d have to address the topic of a giant, worried Bat scurrying the streets of Gotham in search of his offspring anyway.

Damian curls his fingers and his toes but otherwise keeps a pretty decent facade of indifference.

“I know.”

Almost no feeling behind those words too. Yes, the kid’s getting really good at the emotionally constipated thing. He wants to make a joke about Dick turning in his grave, but he stops himself in time. Why has his mind to be so fucking morbid he’ll never understand. He focuses back on Damian, who’s trying really hard not to look like a ten years old in dire need of a hug. He’s failing.

“He’s not angry”, Jason offers, even though he doesn’t know if that’s true or not. He hopes it is, though.

“No, he’s never angry”, Damian unexpectedly agrees. “Only disappointed.”

Jason’s heart kind of falls into the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know how to answer to that. It’s too personal, the feelings hit too close to home. He can’t say _I know_ , he doesn’t _want_ to say it. He’s not ready to have this conversation with someone else, much less with Damian, who’s arguably the brother most similar to him. First, because Jason’s trying so hard, for his own peace of mind, not to make comparisons between them since the day Damian died, and second, because he can’t let the kid count the similarities and make dangerous equations about them. Can’t let him see a Red Hood in his future instead of a Nightwing.

That’s why Dick should be the one giving speeches about father-son relationships. That’s also why Dick should go fuck himself, ectoplasm and all.

Damian’s line of thoughts must have been wandering in a similar direction because, while Jason is still gaping and looking for something to say that’s not a death joke or worse, the kid just sighs and bites the inside of his cheek.

“I miss him”, he whispers, like it’s a secret, or an admission of guilt.

And at least there’s an easy answer to this, Jason thinks.

“I know, kiddo. Me too.”

They both speak in a quiet tone, but their voices are steady. On the outside there’s no way for someone different from their family to actually see how deep the scar is, or how much it hurts.

All of this would be a lot more simple for both of them if Damian just cried. At least Jason would know what to do. He would get up from his wet spot on the grass and hug him. Not that he’s good with tears or hugs, and even less with children, but a crying child is something in the realm of things he comprehend. Like grieving. Like missing someone so much you can barely breathe.

It would be oh so nice if they could do something - _this_ , at least - like a normal family. But they are not normal, and if they ever were Jason doesn’t remember it.

Part of the reason they’re all so fucked up about this must be because this is not something new anymore. They have lost a brother before. A father. A son. They have all lost comrades and friends and lovers. It’s part of the job. And at some point it didn’t… well, it didn’t stop the hurt, of course, because the hurt was always there, but. It stopped the surprise. Because _how else could have it ended if not like this?_ And what’s the point of crying about something that was inevitable from the start?

So crying is not how they do things. They get angry, they fight, they train until their bodies are spent and sleep comes to them as a survival mechanism and nothing more. The only people in their life allowed to vocalize their pain are the criminals unfortunate enough to find themselves between a grieving vigilante and his denial while they just go on with the show.

Until, of course, they get stuck in a cemetery with a child still too young to know the rules of a game no one wants to explain.

Jason runs a hand through his hair, wishing for a beer. Damian just looks at him from under his lashes, mouth twisted in a pout. He knows what’s going to happen next.

“I need to call the others, Little D”, Jason warns him anyway.

Damian shrugs.

“I know.”

Jason sighs again.

*

Tim’s the first one to join them. He looks at Damian, still sitting on Dick’s gravestone, then at Jason, still leaning against Damian’s, and to his credit he just raises an eyebrow at them.

“Is this some sort of inside joke?”, he asks, staring down at them with his arm crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look tired or angry as he sounded before on the phone, in fact he looks rather amused, if Jason’s reading his posture correctly.

“Inside game, actually”, he answers then, making it up on the spot because why not. “You have to sit on a grave that is not yours.”

Damian blinks at him, then frowns uncertainly. Tim, bless his soul, just goes with it.

“Well, that should be easy”, he answers almost cheerly. “I don’t have a grave here.”

“Yet”, Damian replies, but if the child’s intent was to sound ominous or threatening he fails miserably. His own voice betrays him, giving his word a sad undertone. Tim must have detected it because he only scoffs back at him.

“Yeah, thanks for the _memento mori_ , brat. I’ll take this one, then”, Tim says, sitting gingerly on Jason’s grave.

“Aww, I knew I was your favorite, Timbo”, Jason jokes, shifting position and circling his knees with his arms.

“Does that mean that Damian’s yours?”, Tim returns.

No need to ask Damian about _his_ favorite brother. Jason notices he still grips his fingers around the edges of the marble stone beneath him, almost as challenging them to question his right to claim Dick’s grave for himself. Like they ever would.

“Well, I do feel like we have a lot of things in common”, he answers anyway. “Nice hair, a lifelong passion for knives, we both tried to kill you-”

“Very funny”, Tim grumbles.

“I consider myself offended by that”, Damian retorts at the same time. “My hair is definitely better than yours.”

Jason laughs, cocks his head to the side with an amused glare.

“My, my, are we already fashionably aware?”

Damian points his eyes at him like one would point guns.

“Well, someone in this family has to be.”

Tim snorts, and by doing so he automatically gives the win to Damian. The traitor. 

Well aware of his victory, the child smirks smugly, and Jason can’t help but smile himself. He feels lighter and honestly relieved at how easily the banter still comes to them. Even now, even here.

The smile stays on Damian’s face for all of five seconds, then it crumbles down in a cringe, and that’s how Jason realizes that Bruce catched up with them. He follows Damian’s gaze and sure enough he can spot Batman’s unmistakable silhouette moving towards them. He looks back at Tim to give him a silent warning, but his brother is already focused on Bruce too, expression unreadable as always.

Jason turns his head again to watch Bruce slowly approaching them and frowns. He doesn’t know how he would react if Bruce and Damian started arguing in front of him, and he’s not eager to find out. So he waits for him to come closer and then he raises a hand and waves it in a show of no-hostility.

“Hello B.”, he greets him.

Bruce tilts his head in acknowledgment and just stares at their little circle from behind the cowl. He doesn’t look angry or ready to start a lecture, and Jason thanks god for small mercies.

“Can I sit down?”, he only asks after a moment.

“Sure. Just not on your own grave”, Jason answers.

“It’s tonight’s game”, Tim explains while Damian does his best to ignore all of them (an art he’s really well versed in, thanks to months of strenuous practice).

Bruce accepts it without so much as a raised eyebrow. He walks around them and looks at both of his parent’s graves before deciding to sit down in front of his father’s tombstone, if only because it’s the one closer to them or to follow some kind of messed up logic, Jason doesn’t know and he’s not gonna ask.

They ought to make a weird sight, though, Batman sitting in the mud, Red Robin crouched next to him, Jason in his civilian clothes sitting cross-legged in front of them, and Damian in his pajamas perched on a gravestone in the middle of their group. Jason wonders if he should take a photo for Alfred’s Bonding Moments Scrapbook. He’s ready to bet it wouldn’t even be the weirdest one in there.

“You know, I think we should have a grave for Timmy too”, he says out of the blue, because clearly Tim’s not going to talk first and Bruce and Damian are just as clearly trying to ignore each other’s presence like they weren’t the reason for this peculiar family meeting in the first place.

“Hey!”, Tim protests.

“...Jason”, Bruce sighs.

Jason smirks, crosses his arms behind his head and leans against the tombstone until he finds a comfortable position. Tim just narrows his eyes at him, already familiar enough with his quirks to know that this is not just a casual comment but it’s going to turn into a _thing_.

“I just don’t want him to feel, you know, cut off from the family or something”, Jason continues, keeping his tone as casual as he knows how.

“I’m perfectly fine without having a grave, thank you very much.”

“Ah, but we all already have a metaphorical grave waiting for us while we are alive. Some are just less metaphorical than others.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to keep mine totally metaphorical for as long as I can, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind a little. Like, I am this close to feel personally offended.”

“I’m not getting myself a grave just to indulge your issues, Jay.”

“Are you cold?”, Bruce asks, interrupting their conversations with a low murmur, and Jason and Tim immediately pause. The question is obviously directed to Damian, who for the last minutes has done nothing but watching his bare feet. Even now he doesn’t raise his head, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at them. Just barely nods.

“We could go home”, Bruce hums. Jason notices the obvious effort to put it as a suggestion, not as a request and definitely not as an order.

“It’s almost morning”, Tim adds gently, when Damian doesn’t answer. “I’m pretty sure Alfred’s making breakfast right now.”

Jason’s pretty sure that Tim’s going to be a good brother to Damian too, eventually. After all he learned how to be a brother from Dick, and Dick’s always been a good teacher. The kid just needs to give him a chance, and Tim just needs to take it. It’s a comforting thought. Not that he’s gonna share it.

“And I’m pretty sure that when you say _Alfred’s making breakfast_ you’re just thinking about the coffee”, he replies instead.

“Jason, coffee _is_ breakfast.”

“Uh, I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you but-”

“Damian?”, Bruce interrupts them again.

Finally, Damian looks up at them. And it’s not easy to read him, he looks still kind of surprised that Bruce’s not yelling at him, and he also looks guilty and uncertain and like he doesn’t want to leave the last connection he has with Dick, like there is a much bigger decision here to be taken, one they can not even start to comprehend.

Or maybe Jason’s just projecting and Damian’s only sleepy.

“Do you want to go home?”, Bruce asks softly.

Damian’s fingers linger on the marble, absently tracing its edges.

“...Yes”, he decides in the end. 

He slides down from the gravestone and back on his feet.

Bruce stands up too, quickly followed by both Jason and Tim.

“Good”, Batman only says, then he walks towards Damian and offers him his hand.

Father and son look at each other for a second, and whatever their fight was about, it’s pretty clear that everything is forgiven and forgotten, even if no one’s gonna say sorry. Jason tries really hard not to be jealous about that.

“And I’m in favor of Drake getting a grave”, Damian adds in a chirp, taking his father’s hand.

Bruce hums noncommittally and scoops him up into his arms. Damian promptly wraps his arms around his neck, settling into his hold.

“And I’m in favor of giving you up for adoption”, Tim answers serenely, with no heat at all.

Jason just laughs and puts an arm around his brother’s shoulders as they follow their father home.

**Author's Note:**

> \- The irony of Tim dying not too long after Dick is not lost on me or on this story, I promise.  
> \- Spiritually connected to [Hiraeth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8892856) because Jason, Damian and Bruce are the death of me.  
> \- Written for the COWT


End file.
